John's Missing
by ClockworkWerewolf
Summary: Sherlock returns to 221B to discover John has vanished. Where did he go, and why does Sherlock care so much? Rated M for later chapters. I apologize for my horrible summary skills.
1. Chapter 1

"John?" Sherlock called out to his blogger upon returning to 221B on Bakers Street. The only reply he received was silence. The consulting detective frowned as he shut and locked the door behind him. John was not supposed to be working today, but Sherlock could tell that the man had not been home in hours. He hurried to the kitchen, John often left him a note saying he'd be home at such and such o'clock. Sherlock wasn't sure why the ex-soldier did something as silly as that, but when Sherlock discovered that there was no note to be found, he realized how accustomed he had become to them. His frown deepened, something felt off, but he wasn't sure yet what it was, he needed more data. Flipping out his cell he sent a quick text to his friend. "Getting Takeout. Want anything?" He closed the phone and pressed it to his lips as he contemplated where John Watson could have possibly been going on his day off. Usually the man just stayed home and blogged or watched the Telly. Was he on a date? John usually mentioned those and would demand that Sherlock not harass him about casework those nights, not that Sherlock ever listened.

A chirp from the living room broke Sherlock's concentration. His eyes widened quickly and he rushed into the other room. On the side table was John's phone and open laptop. He turned the computer around to see that it was left on, a blog only half finished. Without hesitation Sherlock snatched up the phone and headed out of the flat, yelling "Mrs. Hudson! Mrs. Hudson."

"What's all this commotion about Sherlock?" She was poking her head out of her flat, looking ever so slightly concerned. Sherlock was frowning as he flipped through old texts on Johns phone, but none of them seemed out of place, or gave any clues to his blogger's where abouts.

"Did you see when John left? Did he say where he was going?" Sherlock didn't realize how hard he was fighting to keep concern from invading his voice, though the frown still adorned his face.

"I haven't seen him dear." The old land lady replied. "You two didn't get into another row did you?"

"Think, Mrs. Hudson, was there anything out of the ordinary? Any sort of commotion? Oh what am I talking about, of course you wouldn't know, you just got home 15 minutes ago….." His eyes were dancing across the entryway, taking everything in hopes for a clue to Watson's mysterious, and abrupt, disappearance.

He took in everything he could, but could only find signs the confirmed John had left and not returned, he rushed out to the street, ignoring Mrs. Hudson as she called after him. "Sherlock, are you alright? Did something happen to John?" Her face held concern, but she returned to the flat, knowing there wasn't much she could do.

Sherlock came to a halt as he reached the street curb. "Mycroft," Sherlock whispered when he saw the tire marks that indicated that a car had been parked in front of the flat that day. He took a deep breath, calming himself. It upset him that he had to calm himself at all, since when did he care so much? His façade back in place he walked into the café to inquire about the black car that had been parked in front of the building earlier that day, and what time it had been there.

"Oh, that car? Yeah, it was here ages ago, before the lunch rush even, wasn't here long though, wouldn't have even paid much attention to it except the woman standing next to it was bloody gorgeous." The man behind the counter informed Sherlock. Sherlock just rolled his eyes and muttered what could have been a thank you.

Once out onto the street Sherlock flipped open his phone and dialed his brother's number, he wasn't going to text, he wanted Mycroft to hear his voice and understand that Sherlock would not be allowing him to continue kidnapping his only friend like this.

"Hello, little brother," the voice on the other end was sickeningly polite. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I'm not in the mood, Mycroft," Sherlock spat out, "Where is he?"

"John Watson?"  
>"Who else would I be asking about, don't toy with me, Mycroft?"<p>

"John left her ages ago, Sherlock, I haven't the foggiest where he is," Mycroft seemed to not care one speck about John's current location, but he wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to tease his little brother a bit, "Caring a bit much aren't we little brother?"  
>"Shut up, Mycroft. Why didn't you offer him a ride back home?"<p>

"I assure you, I did, and he refused. I assume you would like me to locate him for you?" Mycroft's voice seemed smug.

"No, I will find him on my own, but I warn you, Mycroft, if you do this again I will hurt you. Leave. John. Alone." Sherlock slammed his phone shut, he could almost hear the smirk his brother wore at those final words, but there were more important things to do than kill Mycroft at the moment.

It didn't take Sherlock long to calm down and come to the realization that John still should have been able to catch a cab home by now, he should have just swallowed his pride and asked Mycroft where John was. Thunder sounded from the cloudy sky above his head and Sherlock almost did call his brother back, he hated being wet. Instead he dialed the number of DI Lestrade.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade was obviously confused by the call, but there was a slight tinge of worry to his voice, "Didn't have another break in at the flat did you?"

"No, nothing like that? I…I may need your help."

Lestrade met Sherlock halfway between the flat and NSY in a patrol car. "So tell me again why you're asking me for help and not your brother, who just happens to have camera's all over London?" He asked as Sherlock climbed into the passenger seat. Sherlock just glared at him in response. "Sherlock, do you really think that this feud with your brother is more important that finding John?" Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed before he thrust his phone at Lestrade. "You can't be bleeding serious?" Lestrade was about to shove the phone back at Sherlock, but stopped when he saw the almost pleading look on the younger man's face. "Oh, alright." Lestrade scrolled down to Mycroft's number and hit send.

"Didn't expect you so soon, Sherlock," came the smug voice on the other end.

"You're a prick; did you know that, Mycroft Holmes?"

"Gr…Gregory?" Mycroft seemed taken aback at hearing the Detective Inspector's voice.

"Where is he Mycroft? You can find him, I know you can."

"Of course, but why would I bother? If my brother wants me to find Dr. Watson for him, he can ask me himself."  
>"Mycroft….I'm not asking for Sherlock's sake alone. Where is John, I'm worried something may be wrong."<p>

There was a brief silence on the other end, before Lestrade heard Mycroft sigh, "Very well, I'll begin looking. Should I call back to Sherlock's phone or your own?"

"Just call mine, and there better be a damn good reason you didn't insist on john taking one of your cars back to his flat when it is supposed to bleeding thunderstorm today." With that Lestrade hung up. "I can understand why that man upsets you so much sometimes, Sherlock."

"Sherlock smirked, "Mycroft has that effect on people…..can we drive a bit? I want to see if I spot him anywhere." Sherlock's mind was back on his flat mate.

Lestrade nodded, realizing that there were very few things he would not do for the consulting detective, especially when he looked so lost and confused. "Where to, Sherlock?"


	2. Chapter 2

**God, this is my first time I've been brave enough to post something here. I must admit I'm a bit terrified. Please feel free to critique and review, helpful criticism is always welcome. Hope you enjoy and thank you for sticking with me. :)**

Sherlock would have been mildly surprised at Lestrade's compliance to his demands if John's disappearance had not been nagging at the back of his mind. There was something wrong with his mind, but Sherlock found himself unable to get past his worry to deduce exactly what it was at the moment. If something had happened to John…..Sherlock didn't want to think about it, because he couldn't imagine a scenario where John was not there, living with him at 221B. Sherlock frowned at that train of thought, since when did John become so important?

Sherlock's eyes caught many things as they drove by, there was an accident that had occurred earlier that day, Mycroft was obviously currently manipulating the CCTV camera's, Lestrade must have other officer's out searching because there was an increase of cop cars on the street, but none of that mattered because Sherlock could not find any evidence of John being in the area. He was constantly reminding himself that he was going to remember to kill Mycroft later.

Greg turned to look at the consulting detective with concern; Sherlock was obviously not coping well with the obvious feelings that were invading his person. Greg could see that the man was paler than usual and his eyes almost seemed to have a wildness about them. "Sherlock? You alright, mate?" Sherlock nodded briefly to show he had heard the DI's question, but he didn't remove his eyes from the streets they were passing.

Lestrade was so lost in his own thoughts at that point that he noticeably jumped when his phone buzzed. "H…hello?" he answered.

"Gregory," Mycroft's voice was as smarmy as ever.

"What did you find Mycroft?" Lestrade was not in the mood for any games, he was fond of the ex-soldier and found his worry mounting, and the tense young man seated next to him was not helping him rationalize against that worry.

"I have found him. He is currently in St. Bartholomew's Hospital."

Sherlock's head snapped up as Lestrade practically dropped the phone. He had obviously heard what was said on Mycroft's end.

"L…Lestrade," Sherlock's throat was tight and he was looking at the Detective Inspector with an almost pleading gaze, his mind racing back to the evidence he had spotted of an accident that had occurred earlier that day. He hadn't paid much attention to it at the time, but now he had this nagging feeling that there was something about it he had missed.

Lestrade threw his phone to the side, as he pulled a sharp u-turn. "Don't worry Sherlock, I'll get us there," The DI assured him as he flipped the sirens on and sped towards St. Bart's.

Luckily they were not far from the hospital and Lestrade was pulling into the parking lot in just under ten minutes. Sherlock flung himself from the car before Lestrade could bring the car to a complete stop. He raced towards the door and managed to calm himself enough to enter the hospital gracefully, if a bit rushed. His eyes ran over everything, deducing everything for evidence of John. That's when his icy blue eyes fell upon the short army doctor.

"I think she's going to live, though it will be a hard recovery…" the blogger was saying as he handed a clipboard off to one of the nurses. Sherlock was frozen in place, trying to remember how to breathe. John turned, almost as if he had sensed his flat mate's presence. "Sherlock? What are you doing here?"

Sherlock wasn't sure what was happening to him, his stomach seemed to be dropping out beneath him and a rage was beginning to fill his entire being as he fought to breathe properly again. He found himself unable to respond to John and instead turned to storm out of the hospital, his mind going into full deduction overload, this time on himself. He passed Lestrade, completely ignoring the DI, and the car that was parked just outside the hospital. He just continued walking, as if that is what he planned to do until he reached his flat.

Lestrade watched the young man storm past him; he then turned to see John Watson standing by the reception desk, looking thoroughly confused. "Um…what's going on?"

Lestrade sighed in relief as he ran his hands through his graying hair and reminded himself that he would have to strangle Mycroft next time he saw him. "Good evening, John….I think we may need to have a talk before you return home….you gave us a bit of a scare." John's confusion didn't subside, but he turned to had a number to the nurse telling her to call him when "she woke up" and followed Lestrade out of the hospital.

"I need a drink," Lestrade muttered to himself.

"Pub then?" John suggested

"God yes, I have a car right out front." Lestrade led John to the patrol car, working on how he was going to explain the night's events to the ex-soldier.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry this took so long to update, I've had it written on paper for awhile now, but I have not gotten a chance to post it with spring break being over and some other bit not good things happening. I apologize for the wait and hope you enjoy, next chapter shouldn't take as long to come out.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

John accompanied an obviously irritated Gregory Lestrade to the nearest local pub, slightly confused as to the reactions of the two men he had come to consider close friends. "I am not quite sure what is wrong," John admitted, when they were pulling up to the pub in Greg's car, "but I feel as though I should be apologizing for something."

"Damn bloody right," Greg snapped before taking a deep breath to calm himself. "No, no, it's not your fault, just a bit of a misunderstanding…I think. Let's go inside and then you can explain exactly how you ended up at Bart's and why you left your bloody mobile at home."

"You were worried about me," John came to this conclusion as he and Lestrade seated themselves at a table in the corner of the pub.

"Not nearly as much as I think Sherlock was, but yeah," Greg admitted.

"Sh…Sherlock?" John looked thoroughly surprised. "You can't be serious."

Greg opened his mouth to reply when a waiter showed up to take their order, both men asked for a beer and declined food for the time being. "Well," Lestrade continued when they were alone again, "he looked very concerned, though I doubt Mycroft helped with that."

"Is this because Mycroft abducted me again, some sort of possessive don't play with my toy's thing again?" John was trying to grasp the situation, but wasn't having too much luck.

"Well…no, I don't think so….not entirely anyways. I think you actually surprised Sherlock with your actions. It wasn't normal for you to disappear and leave your mobile behind…I think his mind came up with too many variables on what might have happened, and not all of them good."

"John patted his jacket pockets to confirm that he was indeed missing his mobile phone. "Hmm…I must have left it at the flat when Mycroft sent Anthea for me. I was just going down to check or the mail when she drove up. I didn't even shut off my laptop now that I think about it."

"Well when Sherlock realized you should have been home he called Mycroft. It seems that even Mycroft thought you should have been home, and so Sherlock called me to help him search for you because if you weren't home yet than something must have obviously happened to you." Greg explained what he knew of the situation.

"Oh…well I guess I shouldn't be too surprised, he does pay quite a bit of attention to my habits, it is Sherlock after all, he notices just about everything." Greg could see the guilt that was beginning to envelope John's posture at the realization of what the misunderstanding had led to.

"So why didn't you accept a ride home from Mycroft, anyway? And how did you end up at St. Bart's?" Lestrade may not have been as brilliant as the Holmes brothers, but he still had a need to get all the details he could, which was probably why Sherlock and Mycroft tolerated him.

"Well he is Mycroft, he pissed me off, so I told him he good take his cars and shove them up his bloody arse and that I would walk home before I got into one of his cars." Greg couldn't help but chuckle at the mental picture of an angry John yelling obscenities at a very placid Mycroft. "As for ending up at Bart's…I witnessed an accident on my way back to the flat. A little girl was injured when she was clipped by a cab. Being a doctor and all I kind of rushed in to help. She was terrified when the ambulance showed up and was going into shock. Since she already trusted me, I went to the hospital with her. There were quite a few others injured and an extra hand was welcome, so I stayed to help out. I was getting ready to leave when you and Sherlock showed up." John inhaled, realizing that he had been trying to get the explanation out quickly in hopes that Greg would understand and forgive him. "I am really really sorry I worried you." He was so caught up in his guilt that John was taken off guard when Lestrade started to laugh. "Um…" John was not sure how to reply, but he did find himself smiling along with the Detective Inspector.

"Sorry, sorry," Lestrade calmed himself, "It's just I'm going to bloody kill Mycroft next time I see him."  
>"Mycroft?" John still felt as though he was missing something.<p>

"Well, when Sherlock couldn't find any evidence to your whereabouts he had me call Mycroft, who called back to say that you were at St. Bart's, but in a way that suggested you were admitted as a patient and were possibly hurt." John blinked a couple times at the DI's explanation, taking in what had been said, not quite sure how to respond. "You may not see it, John, but you've changed Sherlock, made him more….tolerable…human even. He cares about you…you're his best friend, John, and I think your disappearance scared him, though if you tell him I said that…" Greg threatened.

"I…I'm sorry Greg. I need to get home, a…apologize or something." John started to stand when Greg help up a hand to stop him.

"Let me pay for the beers and I'll drive you back," The DI offered. John nodded, it would get him home quicker and he needed to fix things. No wonder Sherlock had stormed out of the hospital angrily. If there was anything Sherlock was unsure of it was emotions, he would be furious at himself and at John for making him….feel.

Greg smirked to himself as he watched John fidget the rest of the way back to Baker Street. John had obviously come to care about Sherlock as well, except that he was able to hide that fact even less than Sherlock could. "_Good"_ Lestrade thought to himself as he dropped John off, Sherlock could benefit from the emotions John brought out in him. Greg watched John practically run up to the door and fumble with his key, before disappearing into the flat. He then turned his car in the direction of the residence of, one, Mycroft Holmes, a very stern lecture already prepared for the man who was the British government.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hey guy's sorry again for the wait, there should only be one chapter left for this fic. It will hopefully contain the promised M that this fic is rated for, but I also kind of like how this chapter ended. It took me awhile to get this posted cause I had an idea for a one-shot post reichenbach thing and couldn't continue with this until I had that idea out of my head, so I am still debating on the next chapter or not, but i will work on it, it would be my first official smut**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, it all belongs to A.C. Doyle and BBC**

John heard a door slam above as he started up the steps to their flat. Sherlock was home, but had just locked himself into his room, obviously avoiding having to face his flat mate. John sighed as he practically tip-toed into the flat as though he was stepping around broken glass. "Sh...Sherlock?" he called out to his friend. There was no reply, though John knew the other man could hear him.

Sherlock was glaring at the door that separated him from John. He wasn't angry at the army doctor anymore, but he had been, which now made him angry at himself. He shouldn't have stormed out like that, everything should have been fine the moment he had seen John was alright, but it wasn't. A rage had built in his chest and he was caught between wanting to yell at the man or to hug him and, to avoid doing either, he had left the hospital without a word. John had taken awhile to get home, _probably out with Lestrade_, and it had given Sherlock time to explore his mind palace. This had the opposite effect that he wanted and it frustrated him even more because he had obviously erased most things pertaining to subject of feelings. That was what was going on here….feelings. Sherlock made a face at the thought of the word. John was making him feel, something he was very good at not doing. What and why did John make him feel? Sherlock needed more data, but he was hesitant, maybe even afraid, to face the army doctor who was not sneaking through his own flat.

"Sherlock?" John was right outside of Sherlock's bedroom door. He didn't raise his voice very much; he knew Sherlock would hear him. "Are you alright? You seemed pretty upset…we should probably talk about it."

"No," was Sherlock's abrupt reply, "I'm sure Lestrade's already filled you in on what happened, now go away, John."

"I got the what, not the why. Besides, I didn't really mean for me, Sherlock."

Sherlock was momentarily stunned into silence. He had just stormed out on the man, ignored him, and was now hiding from him, but John was still more concerned about him than angry at him. Sherlock swallowed dryly as his chest constricted at the thought. _Dammit! What is wrong with me?_ He yelled in his mind.

"Fine, but you can't ignore me forever, Sherlock." He heard John sit on the ground beside his door. "I'm not leaving until you come out and at least look at me, Sherlock, but I can wait until you ready." With that John leaned his head back against the wall and the ever patient army doctor waited for Sherlock to make his next move.

Sherlock reached his hand for the door knob, but noticed his hand was shaking and he pulled away as if the door was on fire. He wasn't ready yet, so instead he followed John's example and sat beside his door. "John?" He still wasn't ready to face the doctor and admit he had felt something…_Worry? Panic?_...but his mind needed answers, answers that only John could really answer. Sherlock had definitely not stayed at the hospital long enough to collect extra any data on why John had gone missing.

"Yes, Sherlock?" John made no move to get up, but Sherlock could hear the other man's concern and could almost see the frown on John's face, the crease his eyebrows made on his forehead.

"You weren't at Bart's because you were hurt; you were there to help someone else." It wasn't really a question, but John replied none the less when Sherlock paused.

"Yes."  
>"What happened?"<p>

So John explained about the accident and the little girl, about why he had left the flat without his mobile (John was still kicking himself for that bit of absentminded stupidity), and why he had refused a ride home from Mycroft. Sherlock didn't ask what John and Mycroft had discussed, but John would tell him later, he always did.

"Well you won't have to worry about being abducted by my brother anymore," Sherlock spoke once John had filled in the blanks, "since I'm probably going to strangle him next time I see him."

"There's a line, I think," John replied in the same calm and serious tone that Sherlock had just used.

It was as though a switch had been flipped, neither would be able to say who started up first, but they both found themselves chuckling and then full on laughing when the relief caught up with them.

"Sherlock?" John spoke up once the laughter had faded and the silence had reinstated itself. "I'm sorry."  
>"Why?" John could hear the confusion in Sherlock's voice.<p>

"Because I made you worry." John could hear Sherlock moving now and he looked up into his flat mate's blue-gray eyes as Sherlock opened his bedroom door.

"I was angry, John. Why was I angry at you, it's not logical" John could see the confusion in those gorgeous eyes, of course he was confused, Sherlock and feelings…well, they weren't something the detective was used to dealing with. "Why was I angry at you?" He asked again, "you weren't at fault."

"Because I'm the one who made you worry, because the thought of something happening to me upset you." John's throat was tightening as he realized that what he was explaining to Sherlock was true. Sherlock, the self-proclaimed sociopath, cared for him.

"I panicked, John…" Sherlock's voice was hardly more than a whisper, but he had the blogger's full attention. "…when…when Mycroft told me you were in the hospital…I blanked…my mind…" his voice cracked, "I…it…I stopped being rational, John…all I could think about was the massive amount of horrible, life threatening, things that could have happened to you." Sherlock was now visibly shaking and it took all of the consulting detective's willpower to not retreat back into his room. He needed to know what was wrong with him and if anyone could help, John could.

John frowned at the detective before patting the floor next to him, giving Sherlock a reassuring smile. Sherlock obeyed and took a seat on the floor next to his best, and only, friend. Sherlock turned to stare at John, searching his face and John could feel his heart skip a beat, but he bit back the emotions welling up in him at Sherlock's gaze. The detective may care for him, but certainly not like John cared about Sherlock, or so John kept telling himself.

"Why, John? Why you? Why you when nobody else? Why do I care about you enough to feel like…like this?"

"That I can't answer, Sherlock, only you can know that."

"John…" Sherlock didn't continue, but John could see the man thinking, so he waited. "There is something I've wanted to do since I saw you at the hospital…I think it may help me figure things out...I…can you promise me you won't try to run….if it freaks you at all…can you forget about it and not hate me for it."

Sherlock was struggling, John could see that and it hurt not only his heart, but his soul. "I could never hate you, Sherlock. Never! Whatever it is, it's fine. I'm here for you, I won't run…go ahead." Whatever John had been expecting, it was not what happened next. Sherlock reached out quickly, before he could lose his nerve and before John could change his mind, and pulled the small doctor into a near bone-crushing hug. Once over his initial shock, John returned the embrace, though more gently, placing one hand on Sherlock's back and letting the other lose itself in Sherlock's curls. "It's alright, Sherlock, I'm here…it's fine…it's all fine…" Sherlock didn't reply and hid his head in John's shoulder as his shaking began to subside. John could feel his heart beat quickening at Sherlock's closeness and he was praying that the detective would not notice because the last thing John was willing to do was push the other man away from him. Sherlock did notice, however, and his head snapped up to look at John's face, afraid that the sudden hug was causing John to panic and Sherlock gasped at what he saw instead.

John couldn't stop the condensation building in his eyes. He knew the moment that Sherlock saw his face that his secret would be out and he would probably have to leave 221B Baker Street. Sherlock noticed the tears welling up in his friend's eyes and realization hit like a ton of bricks. John was in love with him…he knew that look on others; Molly looked at him like that sometimes. Sorrow filled John's eyes and Sherlock found that he couldn't breathe. "I…I'm so sorr…" John chocked on his own tears.

What Sherlock did next was as much a shock to himself as it was to John. Instead of running away, or letting John get up and leave, he pulled the man closer and crashed his lips onto John's. John was only shocked into immobilization for a couple seconds before he was returning Sherlock's kiss. They finally both pulled back, breathing heavily, and John looked into Sherlock's eyes, confused. Sherlock saw John's eyes meet his and couldn't help, but smile at his blogger. That's when Sherlock realized how he'd always thought of John of _his_, John had always been _his._ Every time Sherlock thought of the small man that he now held in his arms it was as _his_ blogger, _his_ doctor, _his_ John. A fire was burning behind Sherlock's eyes and into his chest at the realization that perhaps John didn't just love him, but that he loved John as well. That thought terrified and elated Sherlock at the same time. "John…" Sherlock gasped and _his_ doctor smiled back at him and pulled him into another kiss. _This definitely requires further investigation._ Sherlock thought to himself as he hungrily attacked John's soft lips again.


End file.
